


Even Now in Heaven (X-Files Pornbattle Version)

by scapegrace74



Category: The X-Files
Genre: 1980s, Dancing, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapegrace74/pseuds/scapegrace74
Summary: I’m re-purposing an existing fic to fill the prompt “Before they’re assigned to each other, M+S have a one night stand” for the @xfpornbattle.  The story in turn borrows from an as-yet unwritten 1980s AU.   Pre-XF.  Mulder POV.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Even Now in Heaven (X-Files Pornbattle Version)

The pulsing throb of bass from inside Galaxy made the oily-surfaced puddles glitter like rainbows. If only it could perform a similar alchemy on the odor that wafted from the shuttered bodegas across the street, boxes of rotting vegetables left by the curb, soggy from the earlier downpour. It reminded him of his refrigerator after a particularly harrowing case.

He’d come straight from the office, left his suit coat and tie draped over his chair like snakeskin. Agent Miles in wiretap had a leftover ticket for VIP bottle service at Galaxy that he’d won from AD McMurphy in their standing Sunday night poker game. Mulder loaned his latest XXX tape to Miles, and now that debauchery coupon was his. Patterson had been riding his ass all week. What he needed was a little oblivion.

It was Thursday night, which meant a velvet rope divided the two lines extending from the industrial entrance to the club. He’d been at the front of the men’s line for fifteen minutes, exchanging occasional visual skirmishes with the mustachioed wine cask masquerading as a doorman, who let knot after knot of giggling women inside. No matter. He had a foolproof tactic for getting past the door, and it didn’t involve kissing the bouncer’s hairy ass.

He rolled his shirt cuffs leisurely to his elbows, hitched his belt in a notch, and ran his hands carelessly through his short brown hair, leaving it in spiky disarray. The gold hoop he rarely got the chance or urge to wear anymore glinted in his left earlobe. He shifted his weight to one side like a sulky runway model and waited for the fish to bite. A few scant minutes later, the sound of high heels on pavement approached.

“Nicccccce.”

“Ellen! Jesus, you’re in heat.”

Just then the doors reopened like the portal to a particularly noisy circle of hell and the inside staffer held out two fingers. The hulking doorman cast an appraising eye over these latest arrivals, taking note of the shorter one’s tight silver pants riding low against the soft swell of her hips. With a grudging noise he waved them in, but the taller of the two grabbed Mulder by the wrist as she passed and pulled him along.

“Hey! I said you two, not him.”

“He’s with us,” said the one named Ellen.

* * *

Mulder followed in their perfumed slipstream down a long, blacklit hallway like Alice down the rabbit hole. He figured he owed them a dance or two before disappearing to the VIP area where his date with depravity awaited. Occasionally when he gained entry to a club using this method, he took one of his latchkey women home with him. Ellen and her friend weren’t likely prospects, however, being both too wholesome and too young. If he was going to mindlessly use someone for sex, he wanted the feeling to be mutual. 

Every surface of the club inhaled and exhaled to the beat of the music. Jackets were shed like moulted exoskeletons, glowing white teeth gnashed in spectral laughter. The floor yawed. Objects took on a vanishing quality, as though he was looking down the wrong end of a telescope. He placed his hand on the wall like a sailor in a gale and searched for a familiar object to focus on until the feeling passed.

Ellen’s friend was leaning over to hear the coat check attendant. Beneath her jean jacket she wore a cropped shirt that burned pulsar white, and the inverted column of her spine drained into the primal flare of her ass, encased in silver nylon hip huggers. The small of her back was antique parchment pale, the fine hairs there glistening like morning cobwebs in the eerie light. The pungent drip of lust pooled on his tongue. If he touched her there, he would surely be lost, trapped in an endless cycle of reverence and contrition for all eternity.

She materialized before him, her ultramarine eyes earnest and her hand extended in an oddly businesslike gesture. She pulled into their handshake and breathed the consonants of her name onto his damp neck. Hannah, maybe? It was impossible to tell, and needless information besides. He leaned back and gestured towards his chest, mouthing MULDER in mute exaggeration. She had an inviting smile, a face with a view, and he spared a brief regret for simpler days and artless hook-ups. 

They spelunked down a hallway and a confusing sequence of anterooms before arriving on the cavernous main dancefloor. The air, thick with dry ice and pheromones, pressed back against the hundreds of writhing bodies. A pixelated red laser scanned his features like a barcode, then washed upwards in a froth of light, the music degenerating into a grinding roar. His tenuous relationship with reality tilted askew once more. 

No. Not again. His feet were leaden, nailed to the floor in panic. These moments of half-conscious remembrance and dread were happening with increasing frequency.

A subtle tug to his wrist, and he glanced down into her curious gaze. The screaming hares in his brain abated, and he followed her and her friend to an opening on the dancefloor and began to move, instinct rocking his body to the waves of sound. Eventually, the present coalesced around him.

The two women danced before him, but his eyes strayed to the redhead with increasing frequency. The twin parabolae of her bare waist hypnotized him into a sensual stupour. She was a paradox: girlish features, lush curves, polite mannerisms, and yet she moved with an unaffected eroticism. Instinct began to overcome good sense as he pictured the shallow chalice of her navel filled with his ejaculate. If the scriptures were right, and paradise lay equidistant from corruptibility and incorruptibility, the land of milk and honey stood before him, five feet of provocation and mercy.

* * *

He made his way to the bar. Predictably, Ellen wanted a screwdriver, but her friend ordered a vodka soda with a twist of lime, which was his go-to drink, minus the lime… and the soda. He’d left them in the tender care of a pair of walking gonads who the shorter one was fending off through surgical application of her eyebrows. They’d both be fine. He’d bring them their drinks, then make his excuses and head for the VIP area, where a vodka soda would buy him a whole lot more than a friendly smile and unconsummated lust.

She materialized next to him as the bartender poured their drinks, a twenty dollar bill already in hand.

“I’ve got it,” he yelled, bending his lips to her mother-of-pearl ear. Christ, she was tiny.

She shook her head. “Thanks anyway. I leave you alone with our drinks, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in a warehouse in Reston with no memory of the past two days.”

He invited her eyes downward, where he lifted the cuff of his pants just enough to display his ankle holster. She looked back up at him, first in shock, then in frank appraisal. He could practically hear the levers and gears of her mind turning.

“Well well. Even in heaven there are angels carrying savage weapons.”

Now it was his turn to lean back in surprise. A body shaped like original sin, twin flames of intelligence burning in her eyes, and she could quote from apocryphal scripture. He found himself wishing they had met under less libidinous circumstances.

She grinned and lifted her drink in mock salute. A little something in his soul sang. A larger something in his pants said stay.

* * *

Three vodka sodas later, and her doll-sized hands were tucked beneath his belt, fingers teasing the fine hairs on his flank as they undulated. There wasn’t enough room for a sheet of tracing paper between the damp adhesion of their bodies. Her tongue lapped briefly at the sweat collecting in his suprasternal notch. The question of whether they wanted to fuck each other had been settled several songs ago. They were both merely playing the game to its foregone conclusion.

“I need to go check on my friend, make sure she gets home safely.” The advantage of being fused together so thoroughly is that he could hear her words as they vibrated his sternum.

“She’s over by the entrance, getting a thorough frisking by some James Spader wanna-be.”

“How did you…?”

“They make sure we’re good at noticing things like that, before they issue us our guns.”

“Still.”

“I’m going outside for a smoke. You do what you need to do.”

* * *

The crisp night air made a tide of goose bumps rise up his sweaty back. His eardrums were still pulsing to the muffled beat inside. Bumming a light from his former foe, the doorman, he considered his options. Ditch the girl and his plans, and try his luck at another club. Finish his smoke and call it a night. Or take her home with him and find out if she was as unintentionally erotic in bed as she was on the dance floor.

Fate decided the matter for him. She approached him with a no-nonsense swing in her hips, not even an ounce of hesitation on display. He was more than a little smitten with her pluck.

“So.” She rightly surmised that the next move on the chessboard was his.

“So. Is your friend okay?”

“As well as anyone can be when they’re in the midst of an ill-considered hook-up.”

“And what does that look like? An ill-considered hook-up.”

She let her gaze stroll from the tips of his spiky hair all the way down the by-ways of his body to his size twelve loafers, then stole his cigarette and took a deep drag before answering.

“I wouldn’t know.”

* * *

Before the taxi ride was over, he was certain of two things. There wasn’t a bra giving the twin arcs of her breasts that buoyancy. And she tasted like an orchard; all petals and fructose and vim. She also mewled like a kitten when he kissed her neck, but he’d already suspected that little detail.

His apartment seemed somehow unworthy of her presence. What had once felt like bachelor expediency now felt soulless, and in a rare moment of intellectual vanity he wished for a bit more light, so she could make out the titles of the books lining his shelves.

For the first time since they met, she seemed unsure, and it was touching that she didn’t release his hand as she sought her bearings.

“You’re a cop, right?”

He nodded. Close enough. He wasn’t interested in trading bios right now.

“And you’re not married?”

That was a matter of some debate. He’d taken off the ring, but hadn’t yet signed back the divorce papers. But Diana was in Europe and hardly likely to come bursting through the door, given that she didn’t have a key to this place. Sensing such an explicit answer would erase his chances for imminent sex, he prevaricated.

“Does this look like the sort of place someone who’s married would live?”

She glanced around one more time, then seemed to make her decision, turning into his body and lifting her hands behind his neck.

“I’m a bit out of my depth, here. It isn’t like me to go home with a strange guy I met at a club.” She was playing with the newly cut ends of his hair as she spoke.

“Why did you?” His hands bracketed her hips.

“Because I like the way you look at me.”

* * *

She was feather-light in his arms, but they still collided with a wall hard enough to expel the air from her lungs.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, distracted by the way her tongue was painting his tonsils bright pink and her right leg was climbing his hip like a vine.

“S’okay. You big oaf.”

She was teasing him while they necked, and it was his new favourite thing ever. He rewarded her by rolling her t-shirt up to her armpits and squeezing her tits together while rubbing the coarse material of his dress shirt against her nipples.

“Nevermind. You’re forgiven. Christ, do that thing with your thumb again.”

* * *

His sheets were clean, and there was a fresh package of condoms in his nightstand, but they were orbiting his bed like a conjoined satellite. Right now he had her poised on his dresser, which brought their naughty bits into direct alignment. Sadly, their bottom halves were still clothed. 

He’d finally managed to disengage from her mouth long enough to pull her top right off, and then spent a moment in complete stasis as he stared at her tits. How could someone so slight have such an incredible rack? Her cafe au lait nipples drew his mouth like a tractor beam, and he spent the next ten minutes bent like a paper clip, until the complaints from his spine were louder than her cries of delight.

Now he was trying to slide her out of the metallic Saran Wrap that was masquerading as legwear. She was not playing along in the most agreeable way, since her ankles were crossed behind his back and her tiny feet were digging into his ass, pulling him back against her as he tried to slip away.

“You’re not being very co-operative,” he growled between kisses.

“I suspect you’re the sort of guy who doesn’t value something unless it’s hard to come by.”

Again, she was outstripping his already high opinion of her, and it only made him harder.

“Consider me sufficiently stimulated. Now help me get these fucking things off.”

* * *

Naked, she was a juxtaposition of girl and woman, seductress and innocent, the sacred and the profane. They’d finally made it to his bed, but for some reason he couldn’t fathom, he was delaying actual coitus. She lifted an eyebrow at him, then ground against his upper thigh until she came like a bright, shimmering star.

“Good?” After taking a swig himself, he passed her a glass of tepid tap water.

“Lovely. Do you belong to some bizarre sect that fetishizes non-penetrative sex?”

“No. I’m… uhh, I’m just enjoying myself. And in my experience, once you get to the main event, the show is almost over.”

“Ahh. Then you don’t believe in encores. Or sequels.”

“I’ll see what I can do about an encore. I don’t think we’re destined for a sequel.”

“No. You’re probably right. We’ll be like the Star Wars trilogy - starting in the middle with no beginning or end.”

“You make it sound so poetic when you put it that way.”

* * *

He was polishing her clit like the most precious gemstone, and she was paying him back in kind, her shoulder-length hair tickling his inner thighs as his cock grazed over every taste bud in her mouth.

He arched his neck, gasping on the inhale and groaning in delighted agony on the exhale. From this vantage, the pink slash of her pussy was topped by the inverted exclamation mark of her anus. He debated for about 2.2 seconds, then lifted his head and dove in.

“Oh my god… what are you…god!”

He moaned his encouragement between the downy pillows of her ass. When she swallowed him whole, he took it as tacit acceptance. 

He squeezed his right hand into the heaving gap between her thigh and his pectorals to give her something to grind her clit against.

She tentatively circumnavigated his balls with her blunt fingernails, eventually pressing against his perineum until he bellowed and wheezed like a bull elk, then came like a geyser down her throat, which was vibrating with her choked cries of ecstasy.

It was, and remained, his only experience with simultaneous orgasm.

* * *

They never did have sex.

* * *

He woke the next morning in his storm-tossed sheets, the briny flavour of pussy on his palate. For a frivolous moment, he imagined the russet kelp of her hair still spread across his pillow, his Melusine siren run to ground on his bed. But even before he rolled to his back, he knew she was already gone.


End file.
